


Dean's Family

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Family, Human Castiel, M/M, Mpreg, OOC Dean but we'll find out why eventually, but not because of Metatron, children ocs, some a/b/o but not in an AU way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 13:45:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2775236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's one big happy family living at Bobby's place, but how did things end up this way? And what exactly is going on with Dean?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean stared out the window with a worried frown, one hand splayed protectively on his belly, the other at his mouth as he chewed at a thumbnail. "Bobby, shouldn't they be back by now?" he said over his shoulder.

The older hunter looked up from the lore book he studied, brows raised in disbelief. "You loco, Dean? They only just left." 

Dean gave a huff. "They left hours ago."

"Try an hour and ten minutes ago," Bobby said, adding in a gruff undertone, "Ya idjit."

Flinching, Dean ducked his head, dropping both hands to his belly. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I just... I don't mean to be a bother, I just get so worried..."

Bobby cursed himself soundly in his head. He knew better than to speak so harshly to Dean. He had forgotten for a second, forgotten that this wasn't the old rough-and-ready Dean, this was the new Dean. And new-Dean needed to be handled gently. Bobby shut the book, got up from his desk and came around to where the young man stood by the bay window, hunched over. "Aw, don't listen to me. You know I'm a grumpy old coot." 

Dean shook his head. "You're not old..."

"But I am a coot, huh?"

The young man shook his head again, but a tiny smile curled his lips. He peered up, bright hazel eyes awash with unshed tears blinking from under the bangs of his grown-out dark blond hair.

"And I guess I'm grumpy, too?" Bobby continued.

Dean bit his lower lip, torn between a grin and a frown. Bobby held his arms wide in invitation and Dean all but threw himself into the older man's arms, a little sob catching in his throat. Bobby held him tight, guiding them both down to the window seat. Dean clung to him, sniffling, and Bobby just held him, content. That was the way it was with Dean now. Yes, sometimes he missed the old self-sufficient Dean, but those times were getting rarer and rarer now. He loved Dean just the way he was, fragile, emotional, needy and all. 

Because while Dean needed a near constant supply of love and assurance now, he returned it ten-fold, giving of himself without reservation. Bobby just held on, reveling in the tight embrace Dean returned, letting the warmth and love soak in from the young man he thought of as a son. What could be better?

After a time, when the sniffling tapered off, Bobby kept his hug firm, but said, “C’mon, now. Why you feeling so low?”

Dean nestled closer, shrugging. Voice muffled against Bobby’s chest, he said, “They… Do you really think they’ll be okay?” 

“Of course they will. Sam was trained by y--” Bobby broke off just in time. Shoot. Yes, Sam was mostly trained by Dean himself, but they weren’t sure how Dean was processing his memories and Bobby didn’t want to mention anything that might upset the young man. Triggering a panic attack wasn’t pretty. “--by your dad,” Bobby continued, proud of the save. “And Cas is being trained by Sam. No problem.”

“But vamps are dangerous…”

“And that’s why they got all them sharp weapons and all that brilliant intell from yours truly,” Bobby said firmly. “So they’re gonna be fine, right?” When there was no answer, Bobby gently released his hold, nudging a finger under Dean’s chin to tilt the young man’s face up. The skin against Bobby’s fingers was as smooth and hairless as a boy’s, another reminder of Dean’s new reality. “Right?” Bobby prompted again.

Eyes still lowered, Dean bit his lip a moment before reluctantly agreeing, “Right…”

Hmm. The kid still wasn’t happy. “Where’s Gabby?” Bobby asked.

“Napping,” Dean said with an unhappy pout.

“And Hector?” 

Pout growing, Dean said, “Reading.” 

That explained it. Dean wanted to help others, he lived for it now. Actually, he had always lived for it, but it manifested a little differently now. If no one needed him he started to stew, and if there was nothing real to stew about, he’d start worrying about ‘worst case scenarios.’ “Okay, but ain’t you forgetting something?” Bobby asked.

Dean blinked, shaking his head in confusion.

“Pies?” Bobby prompted.

“Pies…” Dean began, then his eyes flew wide, “In the oven!” He jumped up, Bobby keeping ahold of his arm, guiding him to his feet. Dean’s balance was getting wonkier and wonkier as time passed. Before the young man whirled out of Bobby’s steadying hands, he turned back and gave the startled Bobby a quick peck on the nose. As the older man made a show of wiping his face off, Dean was gone with a laugh. 

“Save that for your sweetie!” Bobby called after him, trying to keep his voice stern despite a grin.

“Oh, there’s plenty to go around!” Dean’s response floated back down the hall.

Chuckling, Bobby went back to his desk, tidying up books and paperwork. Organizing was easy now. Over the last month or so Dean had gone through the house like a whirlwind, cleaning a decade’s worth of mess one room at a time. 

It wasn’t long before the smell of piping hot cherry pie filled the house, and Bobby wandered into the kitchen, Hector trailing behind him. He and the boy found Dean bustling about the spotless kitchen in a black apron whose slogan read, ‘Will Cook For Beer.’ With hands protected by a set of apple-green hot pot holders, Dean placed a generously thick pie that steamed and bubbled with cherry juice onto a cooling rack. 

Glancing up, Dean eyed Bobby and Hector with a knowing look. “And what exactly made you two decide to come into my kitchen at just this moment?”

Dean calling it ‘his’ kitchen warmed Bobby as much as a mouthful of that pie would. But he still wanted the actual pie. “Would you believe, coincidence?” Bobby asked.

“No.”

“Well, dinner’s a long way off…”

“Yes, and this is dessert for _after_ dinner.”

“Aw, c’mon, Dean,” Bobby whined. “What would giving us a couple tiny little slivers hurt?”

Dean crossed his arms, keeping them well above his stomach. “Hmph.”

Bobby nudged Hector and said in a stage whisper, “C’mon, kid, help me out.”

Hector lifted his puppy-dog brown eyes from the mesmerizing pie to Dean. “But...it smells so good…”

In the face of Hector’s shy earnestness, Dean was completely disarmed, dissolving into a warm and fuzzy pool of goo. Yes! Bobby inwardly crowed, the best weapons were the ones who didn’t even know they were weapons.

Dean pulled off the pot holders and draped an arm over the boy’s scrawny shoulders. “Okay, sweetheart, just for you, because you’re so good.”

Bobby cleared his throat loudly. 

Dean sighed. “You think Uncle Bobby deserves a couple bites too?”

Hector gave Bobby a tiny smile. “Yeah…”

From upstairs came a muffled thud and a little voice called out, “Dee-dee! Dee-dee!”

“Your sister’s awake,” Dean said to Hector. “You two hold the fort down here and by the time I come back with Gabby, the pie should be cool enough to eat.”

Dean left and Bobby and Hector worked in companionable silence, Bobby unobtrusively watching the boy as he set out four mismatched bowls and spoons at the table. Hector was looking better. After what had happened… Well, that would’ve been tough for anyone, much less an eleven year old boy. There were a lot of uneaten meals in the beginning of his stay at Bobby’s house, but Dean’s cooking would tempt a monk on a fast and the boy was starting to regain his proper weight. And while he still had a lot of nightmares, only time would heal that. 

Bobby pulled a tub of vanilla ice cream out of the freezer, setting it down in the center of the table. When Hector saw it he grinned and Bobby returned a conspiratorial wink. 

They sat down to wait and soon enough Dean returned with Hector’s three year old sister, Gabriella. Her cheeks pink from her nap, the little girl curled drowsily in Dean’s arms as he gently cradled her, her head tucked under his chin, brown eyes blinking from under brunette bangs. 

“See? Told you,” Dean murmured to the girl. “Why would you want to stay in that boring old bedroom when so much fun is going on down here in the kitchen?” He bounced her a bit in his arms, his joy in holding her plain from the expression of contentment on his face. He needed to enjoy it while he could, it wouldn’t be too many more months before he wouldn’t be able to lift her at all. 

Gabriella looked Bobby and Hector over seriously, then greeted them by name, “Oddy. Hecka.” 

Bobby scowled suspiciously at Dean. “I’d still like to know how she came up with that name for me.”

Dean returned a look of scandalized disbelief. “Are you making fun a child’s diction, Uncle Oddy?”

Hector smothered a giggle into his hand. “I like ‘Hecka,’” he announced. 

“That’s cause you’re hecka cute,” Dean explained matter-of-factly.

Hector rolled his eyes as Bobby groaned. “Sit down, Dee-Dee,” Bobby ordered as he himself rose. “Let’s eat.” Putting a trivet down first (Dean’s rule), Bobby brought the pie to the table, cutting and divvying up four slices. Dean gave him a disapproving frown when it came to the ice cream, but made no objection when Bobby plopped an oversized scoop in Dean’s own bowl. 

A relaxing little impromptu meal followed, filled with laughter and a free-wheeling conversation, the kind of thing Bobby thought he would never have, didn’t even deserve. The kind of thing he might have had with his dear Karen...if fate had been kinder. When their bowls had been licked clean, literally in Gabriella’s case, Bobby took the girl onto his lap and the three of them kept Dean company as he put a marinated beef loin into the oven, adding red potatoes, carrots, shallots and herbs to the pot before closing the lid.

Then they adjourned to the living room, Bobby returning to his research and Dean lowering himself to sit on a pillow to play with Gabriella, Hector sitting nearby with a book. Bobby smiled as he spent more time watching them than doing his job. Dean was in his element, patiently helping Gabriella with a set of blocks, building tower after tower, letting the girl pile or smash the blocks as she wished. Sometimes Hector would lean over and ask for help with a word in the book he was reading, and Dean would explain pronunciation or definition as needed, always prompting Hector to figure it out himself first before guiding him to an answer. 

The smell of roast beef was just starting to spread throughout the house when they all jumped at the sudden loud bang of the front door slamming open. “Bobby!” came Sam’s shout. “A little help here?”

How Dean got to the door before Bobby he wasn’t sure. After all the kid was sitting on the floor and he wasn’t exactly as coordinated as he used to be. Of course Bobby wasn’t as spry as he used to be, either. Regardless, Dean got there first, the color draining from his face at the sight waiting for them: Castiel, one trouser-leg soaked with blood, arm slung over Sam’s shoulder, the younger Winchester supporting him as he limped through the doorway.

Everyone seemed to speak at once. “Oh my god, Cas!” Dean cried. “What happened? What happened!?”

“I am fine, Dean--”

“What did you two idjits get yourselves into?”

“We’re fine! Cas just got in the way of a knife, but it missed the artery--”

“The artery?! Oh my god, Cas!”

“Dean, I am fine--”

“Cassie! Cassie _beeding!_ ” 

This last was from Gabriella, and Bobby scooped her up before she could throw herself onto the unsteady man. Hector wisely stood back, eyes wide and taking everything in.

“The vamps!” Dean said, paler than ever. He came up to Castiel, trembling fingers touching the other man’s cheek, hazel eyes searching blue. “Cas, did you--? Did they--?” 

“No, Dean,” Castiel said firmly, making to return the touch but stopping when he saw how bloody and dirty his own hand was. “No bites were exchanged.”

Dean shuddered, eyes squeezing shut as he tucked himself close to the other man with a whimper. “Thank god, thank god…”

“Look, we got the nest,” Sam stated, giving his brother an impatient frown. “We just ran into a little wrinkle at the end. Cas just kinda…” 

“Got in the way of a knife,” Bobby finished for him. “Yeah, we heard.” He put a hand to Dean’s shoulder, softening his voice as he said, “Dean, come back to the living and sit down with the kids. I’ll help Sam get Cas upstairs. We’ll get him all cleaned up as good as new, huh?” This was the last thing the kid needed right now. Bobby had no idea how Dean would react to stress like this, but in his condition, it couldn’t be good.

But Dean opened his eyes, shaking himself as if wakening. “No,” he said, and, still pale as a ghost, he set his lips and nudged himself up and under Castiel’s other arm in support. “I’ll be taking care of my husband myself.”

Then, Sam doubtful and Dean determined, the two brothers helped the stumbling and bleeding Castiel up the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's having problems adjusting to the new Dean. Bobby helps him talk it out.

As Sam manhandled the wounded Castiel onto the bed, he glanced at his brother, trying to hide his irritation. “Dean, I got this. Why don’t you go down and play with the kids like Bobby said?”

Dean just stood there, holding the suturing kit in shaking hands, staring blankly at it as he bit his lower lip. “No, I… I know how to do this.”

“Yeah, you _used_ to know,” Sam muttered, pulling an old ratty blanket from out of a foot locker. “Cas, can you roll over to the side for a second?” Castiel did so with a pained grunt and Sam slid the blanket under the injured man’s right hip and thigh, serving to both elevate the leg and hopefully soak up most of the blood.

Sam turned to get some washcloths, almost tripping over Dean who still stood there clutching the kit. “Dean! I already told you, I got this. We don’t need you here and you’re in the way.”

Oh, jeez, now he made Dean cry.

Sam raked a hand through his hair. Damn that wolfy witch to hell and back again. If only Sam had sliced her head off just a couple seconds faster. These days Dean was just…useless. It hurt to admit it, even to himself, but his big brother, the one whom Sam had always counted on to stay cool in a tough situation, to always pull his baby brother’s ass out of the fire… Well, that Dean was gone. Instead, they were left with this…stranger. A guy who looked like Dean, if you didn’t count the way his hair was growing out of its habitual crew-cut, and the lack of his old five o’clock shadow, and…other changes not so visible. Sam resolutely _didn’t_ look at his brother’s mid-section.

Dean surprised him, however, with something almost like his old glare. Yeah, a glare from tear-reddened eyes, but still, a real Dean Winchester glare. “I know you think I’m good for nothing now, but I can still do this.”

“You’re not good for _nothing_ …” Sam said, internally adding, _Just not good for as much as you used be_.

“Dean,” Castiel called softly from the bed. “Doctors do not treat their own spouses, so no one expects that from you.”

Sam felt a pang of something that couldn’t possibly be jealousy. Wasn’t Sam a loved one whom Dean had treated many times over the years? It’s wasn’t like Dean and Castiel were really _legally_ spouses anyway.

“I believe instructing me to field dress a wound is the next topic in the Sam Winchester School of Hunting,” Castiel said with a strained smile.

Dean nodded reluctantly and handed the kit to Sam. “ _Thank you,_ ” Sam said, not even trying to temper the sarcasm. “Now go down and play and I’ll take care of things here.”

“Sam,” Castiel said sharply. “I would like Dean to stay with me.” Castiel held a hand out and Dean, who had dejectedly turned towards the door, grabbed it like a lifeline, sitting down in a chair beside the head of the bed with what sounded suspiciously like a whimper.

“It might get a little gnarly in here,” Sam said to Castiel as he opened up the kit. “Are you sure Dean shouldn’t leave?” Dean flinched at his words, but Sam couldn’t help that. Dean would just have to man up, they couldn’t keep coddling him forever.

“Would you like to stay, Dean?” Castiel asked.

“Yes,” came the quiet reply. 

“My husband is staying,” Castiel concluded flatly, holding Sam in a gaze filled with steely warning.

Far be it from Sam to argue when Castiel got that look in his eye, especially when he and Dean considered themselves married. He might not be an angel anymore, but Castiel was a dangerous man. All the more so now that he had a few weeks of Sam’s Hunter training under his belt.

So Sam got to work. The first aid supplies, like any good Hunter kit, came with a bottle of whiskey and, after liberally applying alcohol to the patient, both externally and internally, Sam cleaned the gash running along Castiel’s thigh, then stitched him up.

Dean handled it okay, Sam supposed. He had curled up half in the chair, half on the bed, pressing his cheek to Castiel’s, humming some comforting old tune as his husband gritted his teeth and breathed through the pain. Sam eyed them as he taped down the last bandage. They looked…nice, cuddled up like that. Maybe Dean couldn’t do the kinds of things he used to, but he was offering some real comfort to Castiel— 

Sam shook his head. It didn’t matter. The big brother he knew and loved was gone.

“The wound’s bloody, but not too bad,” Sam finally pronounced, closing up the kit. “Doesn’t look like the knife got as deep as muscle tissue. Just a flesh wound, huh?” He looked to Dean, expecting a snicker at the old Monty Python reference, but Dean was too busy nuzzling at Castiel, the two of them exchanging sappy gazes. 

Sam grimaced. “Fine,” he snapped, standing up and leaving the room. As he closed the door, he called back a sarcastic, “You’re welcome,” then jumped when he turned to find Bobby standing in the hallway, glaring at him from under a dirty ball cap, arms akimbo.

“Are you being more of an idjit than usual, boy?”

Sam huffed with indignation. “I’m not being an idj—an idiot at all,” he said.

“Get in here,” Bobby ordered, leading the way to another room.

When Castiel and the Winchesters along with their two young charges had turned up on Bobby’s doorstep a couple months earlier, shell-shocked, blood-spattered and wild-eyed, Bobby had insisted they move in permanently. He gave up his large master bedroom to Castiel and Dean, claiming it had too many bad memories for him anyway. There were three other bedrooms in the house and Hector and Gabriella were installed in one, while Bobby and Sam now shared the one Sam and Dean had always slept in when staying in the house in years past.

Now, Bobby sat on Dean’s old bed and motioned Sam to sit on the other. Sam sighed, gearing up to receive a lecture, then decided to go on the offensive. “Look, just let me say I know this is all my fault,” Sam said preemptively. When Bobby raised a brow, Sam continued, “That night, I should’ve been faster. It was just so…” 

Red-tinged memories flashed through Sam’s head, the wolf pack circling around the bloody body of Hector and Gabriella’s father, the kids’ frightened cries, Dean wading into the mess, machete glinting as he swung left and right, every controlled arc ending with a werewolf head bouncing and rolling away into the darkness…

“Son, it’s a tragedy what happened to the kids’ dad,” Bobby said softly. “But the rest of it, Dean and Cas, I reckon that’s gonna be okay.”

Sam blinked in disbelief at the older man. “Are you kidding me? This all started when that—that wolf bitch witch—” Bobby’s lips twitched in a smile, but Sam forged on, words tumbling in his earnestness, “—when that witch cast her spell on Dean or cursed him or whatever, and these changes are more than just physical, he’s—he’s had a full-blown psychotic break here, we’re talking PTSD, regression—he’s in denial, Bobby!”

“I’m not buying what you’re selling here, boy,” Bobby said firmly. “And Cas ain’t either.”

Sam crossed his arms. “Then you’re both in denial too. If no one will admit there’s a problem, how are we going to help put Dean back the way he was?”

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe Dean _shouldn’t_ be put back the way he way?”

Sam could only shake his head in shocked betrayal.

Bobby sighed, then resettled his ball cap on his head. “Okay, Sam, so what you’re saying is that when that witch zapped your brother and rewired his body, she basically _broke_ him in the noggin.”

“Right,” Sam jumped in to continue, “and superimposed this current version in place of the _real_ Dean.”

“Fair enough. But here’s what I’m thinking, I’m thinking the _old_ Dean was the fake.”

“What?!”

“A mask that Dean developed over the years and honed to perfection, a rock-solid shield against every damn horror he Hunted.”

“Yeah,” Sam said reluctantly, “I’ve always known Dean’s tough-guy act was a front, but it’s not _entirely_ a front.” He knew he was contradicting himself but couldn’t think of better way to phrase it. “He’s always held things together.”

“But at what cost?” Bobby asked. “From the age of four, Dean molded himself to be what you and your dad needed, what everyone else needed, everyone but him.” Bobby shook his head. “The kid was so damn hard on himself. Always training, always the good little soldier.”

“Yeah, the opposite of me,” Sam muttered, thinking of all the training sessions he ditched, the orders from his dad that he argued about endlessly.

“But more than a soldier, Dean was a mother to you and a helpmate to John.”

Sam frowned. “But he was forced into that the same as the soldiering.”

“I don’t think so, I think he loved it.”

Sam thought of all the meals Dean had prepared for him as he grew up, how he always made sure Sam had the clothes and shoes he needed, the school supplies and spending money, even the Christmas presents (as bad as they were) that one year when Dad flaked out on them.

“What he is now,” Bobby said, “the way he is now, well, I’m coming to see this is the true Dean, released from prison, experiencing life for the first time on his own terms.” Sam eyed the old Hunter doubtfully and Bobby said, “It’s still Dean, just a little more touchy-feely, a little more emotional—”

“‘A little more’? Try a lot more,” Sam said, then relented with an embarrassed smile. “I feel like I’ve been hoist on my own petard, though. You know, ‘Be careful what you wish for’ because I’ve been after him forever for being so emotionally stunted.”

“Well, be happy, you finally got your wish. I figure that damn witch actually did Dean a favor.”

Sam stared at the older man, slowing shaking his head. “It was a curse, Bobby, it can’t be good.”

“Sam…”

“He’s just not the same guy,” Sam insisted. “It’s like...he’s not my brother anymore.”

Bobby’s brows lowered like thunderclouds. “You selfish—! Have you even tried talking to him?”

“Yes, but he’s like a stranger!” Sam protested. “Bobby, I’m not trying to be the bad guy here!”

Lips pursed in disapproval, Bobby said, “All I’m asking is that you give him some time, let him reach an equilibrium.”

“It’s like I said,” Sam insisted, “it’s like he has PTSD, suppressed memories and all.”

“Fine, then, but just that, _suppressed_ , not gone. When he’s ready, it’ll all come back.”

“And then he’ll back to normal in _that_ way at least,” Sam said immediately. “He can start Hunting again and—”

“No!” Bobby said, overriding him. “Then Dean will decide what he wants to do, what he wants to change, if anything.”

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Bobby continued without pause, “And if he wants to be a stay-at-home mom for the rest of his life, then he damn well can _be_ a stay-at-home mom for the rest of his life. He’s more than earned it.”

Sam slumped as suddenly as a puppet with its strings cut. “A mom… God, he’s gonna be a _mom_ …”

“Yeah. And that’s not a bad thing.”

“I just… I don’t like to see him so _weak_.”

Bobby glared a moment, before reaching over to pat Sam on the knee. “You still got a lot to learn, son. Try keeping your mouth shut while you learn it.” Then he got up and left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I had no idea these people would blab on for so long! Next chapter, I promise, a little Cas and Dean action!


End file.
